There's that familiar bar smell and the sound of money trading. The sound inside your head of debt piling up, the worry of having no plan. Best get one more drink, you might not make it out tomorrow, though there is a good chance you will. Standing next to me in this cesspool of a bathroom, doing what we do. Tell me about all of your women and the meaning of life in the 45 seconds it takes us to piss. An awkward pause becomes a joke. There are large fools pounding each other into wet dust again. They can be easily seen from the back of the bar. Last call is in 5 minutes but let's stay up until noon. The parks are closed, so we are a target... we've provided the excuse by enjoying the green space our debt has payed for: on our own time, our own schedule. Let's collide head on with lu-lu lemons lined up outside of cafes when the new world rises again and we still have 4 hours till a pillow hugs our face.
July 1, 2009
review from Disquiet
The group Soft Cell is best remembered for its languorous, metronomic pop, a precursor not only to minimal techno, but more broadly to the giddily presumptuous nonchalance that infuses much of the Internet’s amateur musicianship. There was always something in the musical rudimentaries of Soft Cell songs that suggested a flouting of traditional pop categories of quality — like, say, instrumental facility. Holzkopf opens its Credit Card Ache, a short album of hard noise, with a cover of Soft Cell’s “Memorabilia.” The new rendition’s saw-tooth beats and static-heavy atmosphere bury the original’s lyrics — and so, even if you can’t quite make them out, someone presumably isn’t just singing, but also took to heart, its closing lines: “Go turn the beat around, got to hear percussion, turn it upside down.” Turning things upside down is Holzkopf’s modus operandi. Just check out “OK Times,” a broiling of beats if ever there were one; the song turns the beat around by showing, as did Alec Empire and so many other early chaos-friendly industrialists, that computerized rhythm and randomness aren’t incompatible — or, more to the point, that their seeming incompatibilities are the very source of the magic that occurs when they are combined.